


Third Life

by MuffinBrain



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Or angst, Widowmaker's POV, a bit of blood/gore warning, generally SFW except someone has a potty mouth while drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinBrain/pseuds/MuffinBrain
Summary: Former Talon operative and assassin, former dancer and wife, what is Amélie Lacroix now after Overwatch captured her and reversed her conditioning?  With emotions dimmed, nothing really motivates her except a few memories....This started as a one-shot but is now an on-going thing.  Will be a bit Widowmaker focused at first.  I upped the rating to Mature for violence.





	1. Something

_Boredom_.

The faint sound of the clock ticking on the wall. The image of an unfinished novel with a red cover lying against her nightstand. The irritating feeling of overly starched sheets rubbing against her bare legs. These raw sensations dominated the mind of the former Talon assassin, once known as Widowmaker. 

Her second life.

These days, people around her called her Amélie instead.

She didn't care either way.

A new sensation. Dryness and scratching of her parched throat. Amélie reached for a glass of water sitting by the novel on the nightstand. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped. That quelled the irritation.

Years ago, Talon doctors altered her brain chemistry to heighten her senses. This helped her as an assassin but when she was bored with nothing to do, with nothing worth focusing her attention on, it became an annoyance.

Talon recently decided their Widowmaker was more of a liability than an asset. They gave her a mission against Overwatch and orders. She followed them, as always.

It wasn't a mission. It was a trap. Talon planned her death but the annoying Brit and her ape friend found the Widowmaker and spared her.

Now as an Overwatch patient and prisoner, she found herself repeating a predictable cycle of waking up in a hospital bed each morning, following her escort down the hallway for diagnostic tests, and ending the day with a visit with Dr. Baylar, one of the Overwatch psychiatrists. She always asked Amélie about her emotions but she never had answers. She didn't feel anything. The sessions proved frustrating for both doctor and patient.

Amélie remembered events, places, people from her past lives but they invoked no direct emotional response. On rare occasions, she'd remember a hint of a feeling but not the cause of it. With emotions and memory dissociated, it weakened their impact on her psyche. A coping mechanism or Talon conditioning? Not even Dr. Baylar had an answer. 

As for stronger emotions, Amélie never experienced them. Anger? None, not with Talon nor Overwatch. Some of the medical team here annoyed her or sometimes something triggered a primal fear, a survival instinct, but never anger or hatred. It meant Ameile effectively floated through her days without much reflection or consideration on why she agreed to follow along with Overwatch's desires. 

But tonight, Amélie needed a distraction. She felt, unsettled. She couldn't figure out the source.

Amélie hopped out of bed and walked over to the dresser in her room. The floor felt smooth but chilly beneath her bare feet. In all the weeks since beginning her stay in this Overwatch hospital, she never once felt the need to explore this dresser.

She opened the top drawer. It was full of sheets. The second and third contained various articles of clothing.

Nothing worth her interest.

Amélie closed the final door and looked into the mirror above the dresser. Her skin remained bluish in spite of all the medical treatments but it's hue paled. She wore a white t-shirt with the Overwatch logo above her left breast. Underneath that, gray sweat pants. Even her clothes were dull.

As she stared into her own golden eyes, an idea suddenly struck her. She knew an old friend of hers lived and worked in a lab nearby. She recalled specific memories of spending time with Dr. Angela Ziegler.

Her first life.

Amélie could only assume that she and Angela enjoyed their time spent together as friends. She lacked the emotional reference to know for sure, only having flashes of memories of moments spent together. Watching a movie together. An evening out for dinner. Angela laughing at something. A joke perhaps? 

Thus far, Angela refused to get involved during Amélie's treatment, considering their past friendship. Curious enough, she also avoided any contact with Amélie.

Smiling devilishly at herself in the mirror, Amélie hatched a plan: sneak out of her room and pay Angela a late night visit. This also provided her a chance to put some of her physical conditioning to use again.

And if someone caught her? Well, she truly felt no fear for the consequences.

It wasn't just boredom that drove her to seek out an audience with Angela tonight. Something else urged her on that she couldn't explain; a memory just out of reach. This particular day marked something important when it came to the doctor. The thought nagged her all day from somewhere deep in her mind. Time to stop ignoring it.

Without further hesitation, Amélie slipped on a pair of athletic shoes and walked out her door. They kept the door to her room unlocked and allowed her to roam into the hallway and a small living area adjacent to her bedroom. None of the other patients stayed in this area of the hospital, which was probably why they granted her this tiny amount of freedom.

Her first obstacle stood before her: the locked double doors at the end of the hallway leading the main wing of the hospital. Luckily, Amélie knew the pass code from watching one of her hospital attendants enter it. Her augmented eyes with their exceptional sight paid off. She entered the code and slowly opened the door. She peeked her head out and looked left, then right.

Empty.

Without wasting time, Amélie sprinted gracefully to the right and towards the dormitory wing, hugging the shadows along the way.

Of course, getting in this area proved a challenge. No match for the best Talon operative, though. Or, former operative...

Amélie disabled the lock and alarm on the large doorway; a trick she learned during her second life. She'd find herself in a lot of trouble if anyone caught her doing this. The exhilaration, the chills rippling over her back, made it worth the risk.

You can't keep rat in it’s cage and expect it to be happy without providing stimulation.

Amélie entered the dormitory area and began searching for Angela's apartment. It would have her name on a plate outside the door. Silence fell throughout this level and no one stirred, with the exception of one doctor returning from a late night. His back was turned to Amélie, and she quickly ducked into a supply closet to avoid him catching a glimpse of her.

When Amélie heard a door close nearby, she exited the closet to continue her search. In short time, she discovered the door marked "Dr. Angela Ziegler".

Now that she finally reached her destination, she felt unsure on how to proceed. Should she just knock? Her plan ended with just getting here. That was all the fun anyway. 

_Can I leave my room and avoid detection to visit the doctor?_

An interesting challenge and one she conquered with ease.

But now what should she do?

Amélie stared at the nameplate on the door for around half a minute, with her hand balled into a fist hovering an inch from the door. She considered going back to her room, since she already accomplished something and proved to herself she could sneak through some parts of the hospital.

She felt a tinge of...something. Anxiety? Why did she hesitate?

 _Just knock, dammit_.

So Amélie knocked.

And waited.

No answer. Ten seconds passed.

 _One more time_.

She knocked again.

This time, she heard a shuffling noise inside. Then the clink of the lock undoing and metal parts rubbing other metal parts as the doorknob twisted.

"This better be an emergency. I'm off..." Angela's angry voice greeted her. But when the doctor recognized her visitor, her eyes widen and mouth gaped open. "...duty." Angela voice dropped as she finished the sentence.

"Hello Dr. Ziegler."

"What the fuck are you doing? You shouldn't be... If you get caught..." Angela whispered harshly as she withdrew her head further into the apartment, draping it in shadow.

Amélie grinned, "Caught? By these amateurs? _Non_."

Angela waved her hand frantically and opened the door wider, "Get in here before someone notices you." Amélie quickly entered the apartment and Angela shut the door behind her. "I really don't want you here, especially not tonight. You're here for a reason?"

"No, no reason,” Amélie answered flatly.

"You're just fucking with me then?" Angela demanded. She didn't wait for an answer before turning her back to Amélie. She walked over to a small table close to the door and picked up a glass bottle, half full of a caramel colored liquid. Amélie guessed it contained alcohol. She apparently interrupted the doctor's drinking night.

Now that Angela stood near a small lamp on the table, Amélie caught a better look at her face. The woman had been crying. Though Talon dimmed Widowmaker's own emotions, she still learned how to read facial expressions and body languages of others to gauge theirs and to use them to her advantage. But this was obvious; tear streaked cheeks betrayed Angela's emotional state tonight. 

Curiosity drove Amélie to stay and ask questions.

"I had an inclination to seek you out today. I don't know why. Something about this day. Do you have any ideas?"

Angela's face dropped and her eyes cast downward, "It's because...when we were friends, you used to make sure I wasn't alone on this day. It's the anniversary of my parent's death."

They locked eyes for a brief moment before Angela forced a small laugh and raised the bottle of liquor to her lips, "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I must be really drunk. Fuck."

Angela turned away from Amélie and walked into her living room. Amélie's eyes followed her until she plopped clumsily onto the couch.

"You have your answer. Please leave."

Amélie stood in front of the door stunned, unsure of her next move. What would be appropriate? What would a normal person do in this situation? She knew that people let feelings dictate action at times, even if she was incapable of this herself.

At this point, simple curiosity drove her on. Amélie marched into the living room after Angela and sat down to her right side without a word. Angela's eyes followed her movement but she remained quiet, with the bottle's mouth nearly kissing her lips.

After Amélie joined her on the couch, Angela gave her a side eye and took a long sip of alcohol.

"What do you want, Widowmaker? Amélie? What do I even call you now?"

"Amélie is fine. It's what the other doctors call me."

Angela let out a breath, "I'd rather call you Widowmaker but it's your preference."

"I have no preference, doctor. Call me Widowmaker if you wish."

"Okay, Widowmaker. Why did you follow me to my couch when I asked you to leave?" Angela asked sharply.

"I just have a few questions. I...remember our friendship and some of the times we spent together. Were we close? What did we do together on this anniversary? I only have flashes of memories that I'm trying to make sense of."

"You might not realize this, but it's really a bad time to go through this again. I'm not in the mood."

"Why? You said we spent time together on this day in the past?"

It seemed logical to Amélie, at least.

"It's not the same. You know that. You're not the same friend I once had and I'm not here to sate your curiosity," Angela replied weakly.

"But I still don't understand. Why..." Amélie's next question died in the glare Angela shot her way.

Asking questions failed. It was time to leave. Or try something else? She knew people comforted others with touch but this placed her far outside her realm of expertise.

"I'll go," Amélie leaned forward on the couch and began pushing herself up. She never made it far, as she felt an arm wrap around her midsection and pull her down. Amélie fell backwards against the couch and Angela buried her head into her shoulder.

"I thought you wanted me to leave?" Amélie asked. The sudden turn of events confused her greatly.

Angela snuggled against her body even tighter. "I changed my mind. I may regret this tomorrow but I'm too drunk to care now." 

They remained in this position for a few more wordless minutes before Amélie finally shifted her body into a more comfortable position, wrapping her right arm around Angela's shoulder. It felt natural to Amélie, as if she had done this many times before. 

Amélie's senses flooded with Angela. The sound of her heartbeat. The tickle of her breath against the exposed skin on Amélie's neck. The feeling of her silky hair as Ameile stroked it with her fingers. The lavender scent of her shampoo.

Then there was the sudden dampness against her shoulder and the sound of quiet sobbing.

It felt like a memory to Ameile but also real. It was real and happening now. 

More moments passed without a word. Suddenly, Amélie felt something faint crawling from her stomach. The hint of an emotion. She recognized it.

 _Fear_.

What could she be afraid of? As she continued to hold Angela, her sharp eyes scanned the room for signs of a threat. No, they were alone. Unless someone hid in the shadows, preparing to jump out at them?

 _Don't be silly_.

This fear, was it a memory then? Did Angela trigger it? Or even more specifically, did holding Angela trigger it? It only occurred after she physically comforted the other woman. 

The late night visit offered more questions than answers. She'd definitely have something to talk to Dr. Baylar about in their session tomorrow. She just wouldn't mention the part where she sneaked out of her room.


	2. Sessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter but they should get longer as I get into more of the action. Will try to update every other week or so.

Her armed escort reeked of cigar smoke. She tried to identify the brand by smell alone. Tried and failed. The Talon elite smoked many different types: Gurkha, Montecristo. Of course, your typical Overwatch grunt smoked something cheaper than the wealthy CEOs that comprised Talon's inner circle.

Amélie remembered these details about her Talon masters but strangely couldn't remember their names or faces; they lay outside the edge of her memory. At first, her Overwatch captors accused her of playing ignorant. They thought she hid identities to protect old allies. Fortunately, Dr. Baylar convinced them otherwise.

In all honesty, she would tell them anything from her days with the international terrorist organization, if she could only remember. Loyalty meant nothing to her these days, especially to the ones who wished her dead just months ago.

A shiny gold nameplate engraved with the name “Dr. Kensa Baylar” emerged in Amélie's field of vision. Her escort stopped and opened the heavy oak door that led to her psychiatrist's office. A ghostly gust of air tickled her arms as the door swung past her.

As was their usual tradition, the cigar smoking guard nodded for her to proceed and Amélie entered the room.

“Greetings, Amélie. Please, have a seat,” Dr. Baylar smiled warmly and pointed to one of the plastic chairs arranged in a semi-circle across from her own. Amélie chose the one directly opposite her psychiatrist and sat down. She crossed her legs and rested her hands casually over a knee-cap.

The office felt warmer than usual. Tiny beads of sweat formed against Amélie's forehead. She was still getting used to the change in body temperature...to the clammy skin and damp clothing after a workout. Sometimes they allowed her a visit to the gym with one of her escorts. They watched her as she danced for them, mechanical and devoid of passion.

“Dr. Baylar.”

During previous therapy sessions, Amélie located all four surveillance cameras positioned throughout the room. As another precaution, her armed escort always stood guard just outside the door, ready to break in at any sign of trouble. They didn't trust her.

“Will this be another short one or do you have anything you wish to discuss? I'm considering cutting these back to once a week. One a day might be too much for you presently,” Dr. Baylar offered her obligatory opening to these meetings, with weary eyes and a forced smile.

“I have one thing I want to bring up,” Amélie replied without hesitation. Dr. Baylar's mouth twitched at the corners and she reached out towards her left side for a pen and a blue notebook sitting on a small table full of papers.

“If you don't mind, I'll take a few notes. Everything is confidential, of course,” Dr. Baylar replied. She hastily flipped over the cover on the notebook.

Amélie nodded and described her experience visiting Angela the previous night. Dr. Baylar listened intently with her right eyebrow raising ever so slightly at certain parts. She remained silent for the entire story, jotting down a few notes on occasion.

Amélie relayed these details as one would describe their daily lunch routine. She recited facts which evoked no emotions. She wondered to herself if they should. Something happened last night with Angela...

“You felt fear...not intense but do you have an idea why? It seems as if you were in a safe and relaxing environment. No chance of getting caught by the guards...speaking of which. This time, I won't tell anyone you left your room last night but please don't do it again, Amélie,” Dr. Baylar finally chimed in, right after Amélie finished describing the moment she first held Angela and felt her stomach flutter.

“I don't know why,” Amélie answered, ignoring the reprimand. She couldn't promise to stop sneaking out of her room when the urge compelled her.

“What happened next?” Dr. Baylar continued.

“That feeling...it disappeared after a moment. Ten minutes later, I believe it was that long,” Amélie paused to scratch her chin. “Dr. Ziegler fell asleep. Her breathing became heavier. Her eyes closed and she started whimpering something. I couldn't understand the words. Her right hand clutched at the fabric of my shirt, near my waist. That’s when I felt it again...but stronger. I panicked and left her room. I left her sleeping on the couch alone. I don't think she wanted me to leave her.”

“She didn't wake up when you left her side?”

“No.”

“And you can't think of anything that would cause you to feel that way?”

“No.”

* * *

Two days later, another session. The topic was Angela again.

Dr. Baylar informed Amélie that Angela left yesterday for London. Another omnic uprising broke out and Angela rushed off to save as many civilians as possible while other Overwatch agents contained the threat.

Amélie never had the chance to see the doctor before she left, not since that night spent in her apartment.

But she dreamed about her last night. She felt it again. The fear. In her dream, she held Angela in her arms, just as she did a few nights ago. But it wasn't a memory of that night. 

“I think it might have been a memory from a long time ago,” Amélie suggested to Dr. Baylar after she finished describing the dream.

“From your first life?” Dr. Baylar asked while her gaze intensified into Amélie's eyes.

“Yes. It couldn't be the second. We were enemies.”

“In the dream, you felt afraid around Angela? Or, maybe of being so physically close to her? The recent contract with her could have triggered the memory. I hate asking but, do you think you had romantic feelings for your friend in the past? And they frightened you because of... because of your marriage?”

Amélie shrugged, “I don't remember.”

* * *

Four days later, another session. Today's topic was Gérard.

“I've been avoiding this one,” Dr. Baylar admitted, her face full of an unspoken apology.

“What do you want to know about him?” Amélie asked in a noncommittal tone.

“Well, is there anything you want to talk about regarding your husband...about Gérard?”

“I know that I killed him. I know Talon brainwashed me and forced me somehow. I can't remember anything from that night, though. But here, everyone tells me I did it. In my second life, I heard different.”

“What did Talon tell you about his death?”

“They said someone in Overwatch murdered him and then covered the tracks and blamed Talon.”

“Did you want revenge against them? Against Overwatch?”

“No. I didn't want revenge. I didn't care. My handlers in Talon were pleased with my lack of emotion when it came to Gérard's death.” 

“Do you...feel anything about his death now?”

Amélie shifted a tiny distance in her seat. “No. I just...can't remember it. I know I should feel something about this but I…” she paused a few moments to consider the situation. “I'm not responsible if Talon really forced my hand. I don't feel guilt or regret.”

“But I wonder, why do you believe this version of the events when Talon told you an Overwatch agent committed the murder?”

Amélie raised her right brow, “Are you saying they're lying to me?”

Dr. Baylar shook her head gently. “No, Amélie. They're telling the truth. I'm just worried your mind is still open to the kind of suggestive manipulation Talon put you through. That you only believe it because someone with power over you said so.”

Amélie stared intently into the other woman's eyes. “Dr. Baylar. I have to believe one of those stories and I choose yours. You and your people haven't altered my mind, as far as I know. It's that simple.”

* * *

One day later, another session. The topic was her family from her first life. Amélie knew her parents were wealthy. She knew she hated them. She couldn't remember why. 

This session went smoother than most but neither Amélie nor Dr. Baylar could have predicted that it would be the last one between them.

Another dream that night. Another memory. More visceral than the one about Angela from a little less than a week ago.

A throat slit. The scarlet line on pale flesh marked the end of her first life. And his. Warm, thick blood flowed across her hands, her arms, and then she heard it dripping on the floor. 

Amélie screamed in her dream. Or was it in real life? In her hospital bed? The dream was also real life but many years ago.

Sweat poured down her brow as she twisted her body around in bed. Her bed sheets tangled between her damp legs. Amélie composed herself for long enough to prop her body upright in bed with her elbows. She clutched at the heart pounding in her chest as she took a few deep, labored breaths. 

She remembered.

She remembered Gérard.

She remembered.

She didn't want to hurt him. No.

Sheer terror and panic started coursed through her entire being with it localizing in her chest and stomach. Amélie tried to calm herself with a breathing technique learned during her second life. Similar incidents happened in Talon, though they were incredibly rare while she took their specially crafted medication. They were also never this intense. The surgical modifications to her heart prevented dramatic physical responses. Overwatch physicians reversed all that work so her heart could pound freely.

Within what seemed like an eternity of moments, the breathing moderation worked and her heart steadied to a healthy rate. Her body may have calmed but the nightmare, or the memory, left a multitude of emotions imprinted in her mind: dread, anger, loathing, fear, and guilt.

This soul crushing guilt eclipsed all the others.

_No, it wasn't your fault. Not her fault._

Now there was anger. Widowmaker would make them pay. Overwatch deployed Angela to London to stop another omnic uprising. Talon helped spark the one years ago with Null Sector. They would be there now. 

She could make them pay.

First, she had to escape Overwatch captivity. With a new found conviction, Amélie pushed herself out of bed and dressed in a pair of sweats, a white t-shirt, and sneakers. She turned on the small light by her dresser and stated at her own golden eyes in the mirror. Tear streaks stained her face and her cheekbones appeared sharper than usual. She ran a slender index finger over her right cheek to trace the tears.

No time for delays. She pulled herself away from the mirror.

With just the clothes on her back, Amélie exited her living area and easily dispatch the guard waiting outside her door. She didn't kill the man, instead knocked him out with a swift chop to the neck. No blood. Not like her nightmare. The man still smelled like cigar smoke. She confiscated his gun and his knife.

Fortunately, the base was mostly deserted due to the crisis in London. Amélie found little resistance to her escape and managed to take down a few more guards with non-lethal methods 

Once outside the gates of the hospital facility, in the cool night air of downtown Geneva, she started planning on how to get to London.


End file.
